"I am not your puppet I am not going to continue this relationship as if nothing happened I will never consider her as my wife"
Is this all a joke to you this marriage and stuff first you forced me to get married and when the bride ran away you tied...
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"No, I’m pretty sure I don’t," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, her expression defiant yet endearing. It had been a week since our reception, and she was slowly getting comfortable around me. These days, my new hobby was teasing her. I loved how her eyes would flare up in frustration every time I poked fun at her.
"Yes, you do, and you snore really loudly when you sleep," I smirked, watching as her brows furrowed.
"No, I don’t! Stop teasing me, or…" She trailed off, pointing a finger at me, but the hesitation in her voice gave her away. She couldn’t think of a way to finish that threat.
I leaned forward, gently taking her finger in my hand. "Or what?" I asked, my eyes locked on hers. Her cheeks flushed a soft red, and she fumbled, trying to keep her composure as our eyes met.
"I... I will... I will..." she stuttered, her voice shaky. But before she could find her words, she pushed me away, making me fall back onto the bed. She jumped up, ready to escape, but when she tried to walk, a pained cry escaped her lips. "Aahh... ouch!"
I sprang up immediately, rushing to her side. "What happened?" I asked, gripping her arms as she winced in pain.
"I think my ankle twisted," she mumbled through gritted teeth, tears brimming in her eyes. I scooped her up and carefully placed her back on the bed. She hissed again as she sat down, her face contorting in pain.
"Can you show me where it hurts?" I knelt in front of her, my concern deepening. She pointed at her ankle, and when I touched it lightly, she winced, her grip tightening on the bedsheet.
"It’s okay, calm down, Avni. It’s just a sprain. It will heal," I reassured her. "Let me grab some ice for you."
I hurried to get the ice pack, filled it, and rushed back to her side. Sitting down, I gently placed her foot on my thigh. She was wearing the anklets I had gifted her, and her feet felt so delicate, like the slightest touch might shatter them.
"Rahne dijiye, main kar lungi," she said, trying to pull her foot away. (Let it be, I will do it.)
"Kaise karengi aap? Halat dekhi hai apne apni? Mujhe karne dijiye," I argued, holding her foot firmly. (How will you do it? Have you seen your condition? Let me do it.)
"Lekin…" she mumbled, looking up at me, her eyes filled with reluctant acceptance. "I know you will start with your 'husband should not touch wife's feet' argument. I’m not having that. Just let me help you."
She didn’t resist as I placed the ice pack on her ankle. She winced at first, but then slowly relaxed as the cold began to soothe the pain.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, massaging her ankle softly with pain relief balm.
